A Secret of State.
From behind the curtain the dumb slave Ayesha emerged a second later, and, with fear betrayed upon every feature of her dark countenance, motioned me to follow her.
“Fly! Go in peace! Speed upon the wings of haste and save thyself!” Azala urged, in a low whisper, clinging to me for an instant while I kissed her white brow, half covered by its golden sequins. “Fly, and may the One Guide direct thy footsteps in the right path, and guard thee through all perils of thy quest.”
“May Allah envelop thee with the cloak of his protection,” I said, fervently. “Farewell, O Beloved! I go to seek to penetrate a mystery that none has solved. Having thy blessing, I fear nought. Slama. Allah iselemeck.”
As I released her, her eyes became suffused, but with a gesture of fear she pushed me from her gently, and Ayesha, grasping my arm, led me through the alcove, and as I passed from the sight of the woman I loved she murmured a last fond farewell. Then we descended the stairs to the chamber wherein I had gazed into the Prism of Destiny, and passed through the door by which the Arab slaves had entered, just at the moment we heard men’s deep voices in Azala’s apartment above. Silently we crept out upon the staircase by which my mute guide had taken me to Azala’s chamber, and then descending by many intricate ways we at last crossed the garden and entered the Court of the Pages, where Ayesha left me abruptly without word, gesture or sign. Crossing the paved court where figs and oranges grew in great abundance, I entered the Court of the Janissaries. Here some of the mulazimin quartered there, surprised at seeing me in the attire of an eunuch, rose to salute me. Impatiently I passed on, acknowledging their salaams with scant courtesy, until I came to the handsome Court of the Grand Vizier. As I passed the statuesque sentries at the gate I heard men conversing in low tones beyond the screen of thick papaya bushes placed before the entrance to afford shadow for the guards. In an instant it occurred to me that if seen by the slaves of Mahaza attired in eunuch’s dress some awkward inquiries might be instituted, therefore I concealed myself in the bushes, scarce daring to breathe.
Peering through the foliage to ascertain who was astir so early, I was amazed to recognise that the two men in earnest conversation were none other than my master the Khalifa Abdullah, and Khazneh, the Aga of the Black Eunuchs of the Sultan.
Quite involuntarily I played the part of eavesdropper, for fearing detection and impatient to get out of the Fada to the spot where Azala’s camel awaited me, I stood motionless. The words that fell upon my ears amazed me. At first I imagined that I must be dreaming, but quickly I found that the scene I was witnessing was a stern reality.
The Khalifa, plainly dressed in a robe similar to that worn by his body-servants, in order, no doubt, to avoid being recognised by the soldiers and slaves, stood leaning against one of the marble columns supporting the colonnade that ran around three sides of the great court; his brow was heavy and thoughtful, and his dark eyes fixed upon his companion. Khazneh, with arms folded and chin upon his breast, remained in an attitude of deep meditation.
Suddenly he asked in a low, hoarse tone, first glancing round to assure himself that he was not overheard,—
“And in such case, what sayest thou should be my reward?”